


Little victories

by JackNSallyGal



Series: Survivor Lily Evans [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, Feelings, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, James is worried, Lily is worried too but trauma gonna trauma, Survivor Lily Evans, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6894928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackNSallyGal/pseuds/JackNSallyGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Interesting things begin to happen once she’s had The Conversation with James. </p><p>She expected, naively, that it would be cathartic. And in some ways, maybe it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little victories

**Author's Note:**

> Survivor Lily Evans oneshot that's been in my drafts for over a year. 
> 
> I tried to tag accordingly and I think I did. If I missed anything let me know?

“Here goes nothing. Something shitty happened when I was a kid. Is it okay if we do this now?”

“Lily, any time at all. Whatever it is. All good, okay?”

“Okay.”

…

..

“It was so long ago. So I thought…this sounds so stupid, but I thought if I didn’t think about, it didn’t count. Or it wasn’t as bad. And I was wrong on all counts.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Imagine if he could do something to make it better. Maybe not forever, but for tonight. She’d settle for tonight.

For a hug that doesn’t make her want to crawl out of her own skin. A term of endearment, he’s fond of calling her s _weet._

_Goodnight, sweet._

_Take care of yourself today, sweet_.

Imagine if those words didn’t trigger a rush of crushing self-loathing.

But he’s not a miracle worker. James Potter is many things, but not that.

So she says, “I think I need to sleep on the couch. Just for a little while.”

He tries not to look like the request worries him out of his mind, in the same way she tries not to worry him.

In the end, they fail on both fronts.

* * *

Interesting things begin to happen once she’s had The Conversation with James. She expected, naively, that it would be cathartic. And in some ways, maybe it is.

He’s never been pushy when she’s needed space, or when they’ve set up boundaries around innocent touches, like hugs, or the less innocent stuff, like initiating sex.

It feels good that he knows why. Not that there _needs_ to be a why, ever, but in this case there is one. And now he’s in the loop, so when she’s having a shitty day because she heard a song that reminds her, or she wakes up after a night of nightmares and needs more space than usual, he gets it.

And maybe he’s quicker to pick up on it than before.

All very nice things.

But something strange happens, too. After her night on the couch, she wakes up the next day feeling like she was hit by a bus. She’s so achy and out of it, she expects some sort of flu to follow, but nothing does.

Instead, on top of the achiness and general misery, she gets nightmares. Brutal nightmares that are not at all related to what happened, but still some of the most disturbing ones she’s had to deal with in a while. To top it all off, she spends a solid week nearly floating through work, riding a hazy wave of dissociation that has her spacey and practically useless.

And that would all be fine because Lily knows these things manifest in weird ways, but it also feels like her entire body is punishing her for telling. Even though it’s irrational, the feeling sits with her, and it won’t go away no matter how understanding James is about the situation.

No matter how many times she tries to self soothe that depressing thought away, it lingers. And it takes its toll.

* * *

Remus has his worried face on when she slumps forward in her chair so she can rest her forehead on the edge of the table.

“Lily..?”

“He doesn’t get it. Not from lack of trying. Just…I’m pretty sure this is something he can’t get. And neither of us are used to that.”

She closes her eyes, feeling the cool press of wood against her forehead. Just breathes for a few minutes. In and out. While Remus waits patiently at her side.

“I locked myself in the bathroom earlier.”

“Mhmm.”

Lily’s not sure why, out of everything, that this is what causes her to sit up straight. What about the idea of James telling people makes her feel ashamed, but it does, and she feels her cheeks redden. “Did he tell you about that?”

“Brought it up when we were texting earlier.”

“I can only imagine that conversation,” Lily says dryly. “ _’Hey, Remus, sorry I can’t grab lunch with you, but Lily’s completely fucking insane_.’”

“It wasn’t like that,” Remus tells her, equal parts firm and gentle, so she’ll believe him. “It’s never like that.”

Lily makes a small sound of agreement as she begins shredding the label on the beer bottle with jagged nails. She needs to keep busy if she’s going to get through this. Even though she needs to. Even though she’s the one who sent out the SOS to Remus, inviting him over for drinks just after noon.

“Sometimes when we’re in bed together, I ask him to lay on me. Like, all his weight. And he looks at me like I have three heads and complains that he’ll crush me. But then he does it, putting most of his weight on me, and it feels perfect.”

“Safe?”

“Safe,” Lily agrees. “And other times, being touched by him makes me want to light myself on fire. And the thing that gets me, is that, day to day, I never know which one it will be.”

Remus has nothing to say to that. Because what do you say to something like that? So he offers a hand, placing it palm up on the table, so she can refuse. But Lily grabs onto his hand, holding it tightly in hers as she rests her head back on the table.

* * *

Lily’s nightly routine is as follows: _Change into whatever she’ll be sleeping in, brush teeth, forget to wash face, drag a bundle of blankets and pillows out to the couch, and curl up by herself._

Rinse. Repeat.

Tonight, James joins her. Normally he finishes his own routine, hits the lights and falls into bed without her. Tonight is different.

Lily hears his drag his feet a little on his way out to her, so she’ll know he’s coming. She has plenty of time to shove the blankets away from her face and roll over so she’s facing him by the time he’s taking a seat next to the couch.

She struggles to part the sea of blankets further so she can extend an arm, offering her hand, which he takes immediately, looking pleased and mellowed out by the contact.

“Thought I’d say goodnight one more time before turning in,” he explains.

“Didn’t get enough of me the first time, huh?” Lily teases.

“Never. But you already know that.”

“Yeah. Same for me, though. So it’s fair.”

They stay that way for a little over an hour. James holds her hand, rubbing his thumb absently over his knuckles as they talk about everything and nothing, mostly about their days, the parts they didn’t re-hash over dinner, until their voices are sleep slurred and James is leaning against the couch to stay upright.

“You want to sleep out here tonight? With me?” Lily clarifies.

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to. I know it’s cramped…”

But beds are complicated. Beds remind her of things that she doesn’t want to remember when she’s with James. When they’re together, she just wants to think of how nice it is to hold him. To fall asleep to his steady heartbeat and a smile on her face because he’s the best at saying the kind of dreamy nonsense that doesn’t stop the nightmares, can’t stop them no matter how sweet and soft he is in those moments, but it’s enough for her to at least fall asleep with a smile on her face, feeling happy and safe and warm. Even if it can’t last.

She doesn’t want to remember other people and other beds when she’s with him. 

Couches, though. They just might be a loophole.

Lily shoves the blankets off so James can climb in next to her and stretch out. His feet dangle over the edge and Lily’s pressed firmly against his chest and the back of the couch, with no room to move, but it’s alright. It’s better than alright.

“Not too cramped,” James mumbles into her hair. “Perfect.”

“Perfect,” she echoes, pulling the blankets over them both.

His arms settle around her and she’s pretty sure he’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow they’re sharing.

It takes her a little longer. She listens to the ticking clock. The rush of traffic outside the window. She hears doors closing and unsteady laughter from the hallway, and her head picks up until it’s a fierce gallop in her chest.

So it takes her a lot longer than she’d like to actually fall asleep, especially given how tired she is. But when she does, she sleeps straight through until morning, and wakes up able to tilt her head and kiss James on the cheek, his favorite way to be coaxed awake.

And it feels like a little victory.

* * *

The little victories are great because they can tide her over ~~sort of, not really~~ when everything goes completely to hell.

It starts like this: “I think I need to move out.”

James is making grilled cheese, having put her on tomato soup duty, when she blurts it out. He pauses with the spatula hovering over the pan, and she absorbs the shock and hurt before he can hide them. Lily’s the one to turn the burner off so they don’t ruin the sandwiches and it gives James the time he needs to think of what he wants to say when he joins her at the table.

“Is this…are we..?”

“I don’t want to break up,” Lily rushes out. “That’s not what this is.”

“Okay,” he looks so relieved that Lily feels like crying. “Can you just-“

“Explain it?”

“I guess I’m just wondering, is it something I did? Like, can I do better? Maybe we can adjust things…”

And this is the hard part, Lily thinks. Not that the whole thing, decision making process and this conversation included, hasn’t been _excruciating_ , but trying to make James understand that it’s not a matter of trying, on either of their parts, just feels and sounds too much like giving up, even if she knows it’s not.

“It’s not anything you’ve done, or could do. I need you to know that, okay?”

“Okay,” James returns solemnly. “Sure.”

“Sleep has been…tricky again.”

Before Lily is forced to launch into an explanation about sleep hell, detailing the fact that falling asleep with him on the couch is lovely, but that she still wakes up, like clockwork, choking on a scream and forced to crawl away from him so she can pace away the rest of the hours, James is nodding. And she’s so grateful that she doesn’t have to get into all that, it makes her a little dizzy.

“I can’t fully relax without some serious alone time,” she admits. “I think I need to sleep alone more. Be in my own space. And I know it sounds like me wanting to get away from you, but I don’t. I really don’t. And I wish things were…I wish I was different.”

“Don’t, please. Maybe we have to do things a little differently, but it’s fine. More than fine because we’re together.”

The decision for them to finish up the two months on their lease is less painful after that. There’s a flurry of panic among their friends, expressed in a wave of texts and conversations about break ups and _Literally what the fuck (middle finger emoji) is happening ? (panicked face emoji) ?_  from Sirius.

Move out day day dawns and Peter arrives first, bless him, with coffee all around. The others slowly trickle in, offering a yawn and wave in greeting, before they pick up the sea of boxes and begin the task of moving Lily two floors down. 

The furniture is a challenge, but at least they're going down rather than up. And Lily treats everyone to lunch, which they eat sprawled on her living room floor, as a thank you. 

James appears that night, promptly at nine, for a goodnight kiss. He's in sweats that ride blessedly low on his hips and a t-shirt that's seen better days after too many washes and it's a relief to hug him. Her body just sort of curls around his and they stay that way for some time, with him on her doorstep, until it's time for the goodnight. 

Lily shuts her door and as much as she'd like to happily fall into bed for the next twelve hours, she cries instead. It's not a great dramatic thing, just some tears followed by a chilling, familiar numbness that sometimes happens after feeling too much at once.

So she sits cross legged in the center of her new bed, wiping at her eyes as the sleeves of James' oversized sweater flop around her wrists, and takes stock.

She misses him. Even though he's only two floors above her, literally a text or elevator ride away. She misses his dirty laundry mixing with hers and she hasn't even slept there yet but she's already wondering about waking up alone each morning and whether this was a supremely bad idea.

But.

Lily feels like she can breathe. Sad, nasally breaths from crying, yes.

But.

Mixed with missing James and missing something close to normalcy in living with him, she feels relief. Her eyes take in the shelves with her books and the open closet door where her clothes hang. And the emptiness in the spots that haven't been filled in yet. 

Space.

Just hers.

And time. To fill them in, or not. 

And not too long after that, when she's tucked into her own bed, feeling drowsy and tentatively okay, she's able to acknowledge that it's the sweetest gesture she's made toward herself in a long time. 


End file.
